


My Watch Begins

by brokenbutstillstanding



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur Returns, Coronavirus, Immortal Merlin, M/M, Merlin is suffering, Modern Day, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, but i promise the ending is happy, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:55:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28079538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenbutstillstanding/pseuds/brokenbutstillstanding
Summary: Arthur kept waiting for Merlin to join them. He was the last one before their little family would be complete again. But he didn’t.Years went by and he didn’t. More years than anyone could have possibly lived. And Arthur watched.People couldn’t come back from the dead.Until he did.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 139





	My Watch Begins

Arthur wasn’t sure what he’d expected death to be like, but it wasn’t this. He remembered Merlin holding him, the man’s tears falling on his face as Arthur faded away. He could count on one hand the amount of times he’d seen Merlin cry and despite all they’d been through in his final hours he felt a stab of guilt at being the cause.

He didn’t know if he’d expected golden archways or even the fiery gates of hell where he was sure his father and sister were residing. He didn’t expect the field he’d showed up in, flowers of every color swaying in the breeze he was pretty sure shouldn't exist. He almost wouldn’t have believed he was dead at all if it wasn’t for the people he saw standing at the edge of the field.

His mother had welcomed him with open arms and words of love and pride. He fell into them like a child, even though he towered above her. It felt even better to be held by her now than it did when Morgause had summoned her spirit.

Lancelot had been waiting with a grin as well, Elyan not far behind.

Gwaine had been a shock. Arthur hadn’t even known that he’d died. It wasn’t until much later when the two had a chance to talk alone that he found out what had really befallen his friend. His heart ached for him. He knew what betrayal felt like.

Except it wasn’t really betrayal was it?

Merlin had done nothing but protect him, support him, fight for him, serve him. He still felt the aching sting of hurt in his chest knowing that his best friend hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him the truth, but there wasn’t much he could do about it now.

One by one their little group was joined by their comrades over the years. First, it was Percival, a sword to the gut in battle sending him to join their ranks.

Then it was Gaius who had died in his sleep peacefully one night as his age finally caught up to him.

Leon joined not long after. He was one of the strongest men he’d ever met, but he was no match for the sickness that had run rampant throughout the Kingdom, and without Gaius the casualties were great.

Gwen died an old woman, her last remaining friend at her side.

Arthur kept waiting for Merlin to join them. He was the last one before their little family would be complete again. But he didn’t.

Years went by and he didn’t. More years than anyone could have possibly lived. And Arthur watched.

He stayed near Camelot, never straying too far even as Camelot ceased to exist. Even as countries like “England”, “Wales”, and “France” began to form around him.

Arthur watched nearly 300 years after his death as a strong, battle-scarred people from lands far to the North of Camelot sailed in on their boats and slaughtered and razed the land.

He watched 600 years after his death as a series of religious wars broke out, as thousands upon thousands of men marched off to reclaim the Holy Land.

About 750 years after his death he observed the King sign a royal charter called the “Magna Carta” to quell rebellious barons. 

Roughly 900 years after his death came a great plague. Bodies upon bodies piled up on the streets, constant bonfires burned through the night from the dead that fueled them. Entire villages wiped out. 

Peasants began to revolt not long after as angry rebels burned, destroyed, and killed anything and everyone associated with the royal government and the fourteen-year-old boy-king that led it.

He watched 1150 years after he died as men and women sailed off to inhabit what they were calling a “New World” with their strange new weapons he still couldn’t figure out and just shy of 200 years later as the settlers revolted against the crown, winning their freedom and separating from their motherland. 

1300 years after he died he watched as the entire world exploded into conflict, and then as they did it again 25 years after that.

He watched as people stopped using horses to get around, as roads grew smoother and inhabited moving contraptions to get one from place to place. He watched as trees were felled in favor of industrialization and the ruins that were all that was left of Camelot crumbled more and more by the day.

And yet Merlin stayed. He traveled sometimes, but never went far from the lake. He seemed to be waiting for something. 

He’d move sometimes for a little longer when the next frenzy of witch hunts would inevitably begin. That was one thing Arthur had noticed, there were many people like his father in the world. People that were willing to burn innocent men, women, and children out of fear. It didn’t matter the year.

He didn’t know how many of these people were truly sorcerers. Or witches he supposed they were called now.

He didn’t want to know.

Although he didn’t think Merlin could die if he tried, he tended to move out of the way when those started. He still felt pain, that much Arthur knew. His servant was as clumsy as ever and he’d chucked lightly to himself more than once when he’d checked in on him only to find him hopping around on one foot cursing sharply at a rock.

Sometimes Merlin would talk. He would talk to Gaius, or his mother, or Will. Sometimes it was to Lancelot or Gwaine. But most often he’d talk to Arthur.

He would speak of the world and how it was changing so quickly. He would wake from nightmares with heart-wrenching apologies on his lips and tears that refused to dry. He would tell Arthur he missed him and begged him to return, would ask how much longer he must wait.

He would talk to a woman in the lake sometimes too, usually in his lowest moments.

“You cannot die, Merlin.” She said one evening as Merlin expressed his wish to join his friends and family in whatever waited beyond life.

“I can. I just need a weapon forged in dragon fire.” He looked at her pointedly and Arthur felt as though he was missing something important. 

“You are not meant to wield it. Not in this way” the lady chided.

“I can’t do this for much longer.” Merlin sighed.

“Do you truly believe Arthur would approve of you ending your life using his sword?” The woman’s eyebrow quirked and Merlin flinched almost imperceptibly.

His sword? Dragon fire? 

Frustration welled in him again as it often did when he discovered yet another secret Merlin had been keeping from him. Through the faint bitterness simmering in his chest, he silently thanked the lady of the lake for refusing him.

Merlin couldn’t perish by his sword.

“Please, Arthur. Don’t make me wait any longer.” 

But Arthur couldn’t come back from the dead. No one could.

It was about 1500 years after Arthur had died. Another plague had ravaged the entire world and when Merlin would go into the town with the large buildings and doors that would slide open at his approach for supplies the streets were filled with people wearing face coverings. Arthur didn’t know if it was even possible for Merlin to catch the sickness with his magic and apparent immortality but he still took the neckerchief he was so fond of (one made from the scraps of one of Arthur’s red tunics. Merlin had cast some sort of spell on it to keep it from deteriorating when he noticed it starting to fall apart) over his nose and mouth.

Across the seas, in that New World, their King seemed hell-bent on destroying it. He saw fires and riots, people taken away with white sheets over their bodies from either illness or at the hands of their own guards when Merlin passed by the moving portrait box. Through that, he saw glimpses of explosions in lands to the west and death and destruction across the world.

It seemed to weigh heavily on Merlin, and if Arthur knew one thing about his friend it was that he took on far more responsibility than was his. He no doubt blamed himself to a degree for being unable to stop it all, but even for a sorcerer of his power it was impossible.

It was during this time Merlin stopped speaking. He often manipulated his appearance, his favorite being that of an elderly man who had a face suspiciously reminiscent of Gaius, only dropping that mask when he was alone at his camp by the lake. Arthur hadn’t missed how he refused to look at his true face in the reflection of the water.

Merlin had his moments of weakness, of course, it had been over a millennium after all, but Arthur had never seen him truly snap until now.

He looked like a mad man as he splashed into the lake, his footing unstable as the silt and mud slipped beneath his feet as he trudged deeper. When the water became too deep for him to stand he swam towards the center of the lake where the lady would often appear, disappearing underneath the ripples as he dove down to the bottom in search of something. 

It was ages before he reappeared. It likely would have killed him had he been mortal, and he coughed up water all the same as his head broke the surface again. He seemed more frustrated than pained.

“Where is it!?” He yelled through his coughing.

He dove again.

He repeated the process three more times before the water parted for the lady to emerge, this time holding a familiar sword in her hand.

“Give it to me or I swear…” Merlin threatened although he looked more pitiful than anything with his hair plastered to his face and his voice hoarse from the water in his lungs and the screaming.

“I cannot do that, Emrys.” She responded, a soft and sad look in her eyes.

“Please, Freya. Please. I’ve helped you, now help me.” He begged and something broke in Arthur’s chest.

“It is not yours to wield. I’m sorry. I truly am.”

She looked like she would give him the sword if she could, the pain and pity evident on her face.

The sword that could kill him.

“He isn’t coming back, Freya. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t. I don’t want to live forever.” Merlin found a foothold on something, a mound of sand perhaps, and stopped treading. 

“He will. And he will need you, Merlin.” She assured although Merlin didn’t look like he believed her.

And he was right. People couldn’t come back from the dead.

Until he did.

It didn’t seem to be a particularly special day of any sort. He had been with Gwen and Lancelot when it happened, all of a sudden they started to fade.

“Gwen? Lancelot?” Arthur began to panic slightly, reaching out for Gwen’s hand and seeing his own move right through it.

“Arthur!?” Gwen exclaimed, eyes wide and frightened as Lancelot tried in vain to grasp some part of Arthur.

But they just kept dissolving until he felt off-balance, like the world had tilted on its axis and he was floating.

Then he felt his chest expand for the first time in 1500 years to take in the air it now required, only to find it filled with water instead. He grasped at his throat with one hand, the other threading through the water all around him and finally landing on something cold and solid. He was raised by that arm, whatever the object was seeming to drag him out of the water until his lungs could breathe again after some frantic coughing. It began pulling him somewhere, towards shore Arthur assumed, and he went along with it.

When he finally felt soft sand and mud under his feet the object halted and dropped along with Arthur to the floor. As Arthur gasped for breath and fought to collect himself he looked at what the object was for the first time. A sword. His sword. 

If this was his sword then-

He looked up a little too quickly if the stars behind his eyelids were anything to go by, but it was worth it because there, standing no more than ten feet away looking like he was blinking back tears, was Merlin.

“Mer-“ Arthur tried to get out, but the shock of it all paired with how waterlogged he felt made it difficult.

“Arthur…” Merlin whispered, taking a hesitant step towards him as though he could barely believe his eyes.

Arthur couldn't help but smile.

“What, no welcoming party? Some servant you are.” He teased.

The shock of being alive again would come later, for now, the only thing that mattered was Merlin dropping to his knees in front of him and grasping him like a lifeline as he sobbed into Arthur’s soaked tunic. Arthur clung back just as hard, only managing to hold back his own tears for Merlin’s sake.

Later he would ask why he was back at all and Merlin would tell him of the full prophecy. Later Merlin would hold him again as though he was afraid he would disappear and Arthur didn’t blame him after everything he’d witnessed. Later Arthur would hide his sword and when Merlin questioned him the two would get into the biggest fight they’d ever had. Arthur would be a little too accusing through his fear, telling Merlin he knew what he’d tried to do. Merlin would be a little too angry, subtly blaming Arthur for leaving him. Later they would apologize, their words were spoken through fear and pain. Later they would go on to save the world together, and they would fulfill their destiny. 

Much later Arthur would die for the second time, this time an old man with Merlin by his side. Later Merlin would join him, Excalibur transferred to his hand and allowing the man to finally rejoin all his loved ones now that destiny had released her reins on them both.

And somewhere in between it all, they said “I love you” for the first and last time.


End file.
